by Regina Scott
Alan tilted back his head and laughed.
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Chapter Seven
Verse Five, Five Golden Rings
Gen eyed the bonnet on her dressing table, where the black feathers were shining in the candlelight. She was still unsure whether she wanted to wear it, or burn it. It really was rather fetching, with the blue ribbon, a blue that so closely matched her eyes, tied beneath her chin in a great big bow. She ought to be delighted with the man's ingenuity. Instead, she felt as if a noose were tightening around her neck. Like Geoffrey's ferret of the morning, she could feel the trap closing around her, and she had no expectation of rescue.
She pulled the hairbrush through her thick hair, wondering again whether there was any way out of her dilemma. Perhaps she ought to sell the diamonds. No, it still wouldn't be enough for Allison's Season or another year in London. Whatever price they fetched surely wouldn't be enough to fix the Abbey or allow her to sneer at Alan's wager. She winced as she hit a tangle in her curls. Tangles in her hair, tangles in her life. And it was only getting worse.
Someone tapped on her door, and she called for them to come in. Setting down the brush and turning, she saw her mother in the door. She smiled a welcome, and Mrs. Munroe moved into the room. Her mother paused to straighten the portrait of Gen's father by the door, then crossed to tug the quilt back into place on the four-poster bed.
"Is there something you need of me, Mother?” Gen prompted.
Her mother paused behind her stool in front of the dressing table. Her gaze rested on the colly bird bonnet. “I just came to say goodnight,” she murmured.
Gen waited, sure there must be more. Her mother reached out and stroked the silky black feathers.
"This was an ... interesting gesture for the Squire, don't you think?"
"Hmmm.” Gen managed to make it neither an agreement nor a disagreement. She felt her mother's gaze on her and tried not to squirm.
Her mother sighed, crossing to the bed again and fluffing the pillows so that they rose a little higher against the carved headboard. “Genevieve, I am well aware that you and your father discussed your suitors far more often than you discussed them with me. I fear I can be difficult to approach sometimes. But I hope you can speak to me when something is troubling you."
Gen blinked, breath catching in her throat. Did she know? Had she guessed? “What ... what do you think is troubling me, Mother?"
Her mother smoothed down the country quilt, her long-fingered hand lingering on the bright patterns. “You needn't be evasive. I'm speaking of the Squire. I hope you understand that he seems to have taken an interest in you."
Gen relaxed, turning to face her mother. “You are quite wrong there, Mother. The Squire is no more interested in me than were any of those other shallow gentlemen who flocked around me in London."
Her mother raised an eyebrow. “I see. You admit he is a suitor, then."
"No!” Gen argued. “I admit he seems to be taken with harassing me, annoying me, and in every way making himself disagreeable."
Now her mother frowned. “It does not seem so to me. This gift is a good example, and the hens he sent home with me the other day. In fact, he has been paying you the utmost of courteous attention. Do you find that attention disagreeable?"
Gen felt herself reddening. “Oh, Mother, it's so difficult to explain. Doesn't he seem just a bit too attentive to you? Perhaps too kind?"
"He seems to be very different from what I had expected from a Pentercast, but then his father was like that as well. He appeared quite charming, but underneath ... “, she stared off into the middle distance, face impassive, and Gen wondered what memory she was reliving. She blinked rapidly and returned her gaze to her daughter. “I have seen no sign that he is other than he seems; however, it is best not to overlook the fact that he is still a Pentercast, and a Munroe would never form a close association with a Pentercast."
Despite her concerns over Alan, the old litany bothered Gen. “But surely we should judge him on his own merits, Mother, not on those of his forefathers."
"Some tendencies, my dear, run in families. I have no doubt that underneath his fine façade, the Squire is every bit as conniving and manipulative as his father before him. An acorn does not fall far from the tree, Genevieve. I can only hope that you have not offered him any encouragement."
Gen was forced to laugh. “Mother, I can safely say that I have not been the least encouraging. In fact, I have been actively discouraging to the Squire."
Her mother nodded, moving toward the door. “Good. Perhaps that is the best approach. I would not want you to lose your heart to someone unworthy. It can be a most painful experience. I must say I'm quite glad we'll be returning to London soon. I'm sure next Season we'll find you the proper husband."
Gen managed a smile. “Yes, Mother.” Watching her in the doorway, tall, spare, distant, she found she had to try again to explain. “Mother, I thought you were happy here at the Abbey."
Her mother turned back to her, head cocked thoughtfully. “I suppose I am. I had forgotten how quiet it is here. You can hear the birds outside your window in the morning, even in the winter. And the Church bells on the breeze. London is always so busy. I could be quite content here. But that would be very selfish. It is my duty to see you and Allison well settled, and we are unlikely to accomplish that here in the country."
"But surely there are dances here, social gatherings, picnics in the summer?” Gen persisted, encouraged by her mother's confession. “There must be other young men besides the Squire and his brother."
"None we would care to know,” her mother said with a sniff. “Do not worry yourself over this, Genevieve. When Allison comes out next Season, you will have a whole new set of suitors to choose from. Surely one will be to your liking. Now, good night, my dear."
As her mother closed the door behind her, Gen put her head in her hands. Carstairs was right—she would have to tell them. She wanted so much to give them a little time, a little peace, but she couldn't let her mother keep building dreams that would never come true. Squaring her shoulders, she looked up and saw the bonnet. She picked it up and hurled it across the room. It hit the bed post with a rather satisfactory smack, and black feathers floated down upon the colorful quilt.
"Oh, wonderful. Now I'm supposed to sleep with them as well."
She didn't rest well that night and woke the next morning feeling cross. Her mood was not improved when her morning's hunt turned up nothing again, even with Chimes’ assistance. So much for being able to live off the land. Their only hope seemed to be those harvest tithes. Surely there was some way she could help Alan lose his wager. She thought over the gifts that would be coming, but she had no idea how he would accomplish them so could think of no easy way to thwart him. The more frustrated she became, the more her temper threatened. She was close to the boiling point when after lunch the entire Pentercast family arrived for a visit.
As on the day before, her mother and Allison were only too happy to play hostess. Because her mother had agreed to put off mourning, both were dressed in gowns of sprigged muslin. Gen's dark mood hadn't allowed her to pick anything more festive than her lilac kerseymere. Even Mrs. Pentercast looked more fashionable in her gown of striped silk. Alan's dark coat and fawn trousers, and Geoffrey's attempt to match them, looked quite polished as well. She briefly considered pleading a headache, but a glance at her mother told her she would never be granted permission to leave. With a sigh, she prepared herself to do battle.
Battle, however satisfying it might have been to her nerves, was not easy to come by. Mrs. Pentercast and her mother were soon sitting in the two Sheraton chairs nearest the fire, heads close together in conversation, and Geoffrey was seated at Allison's feet on the chaise lounge across the room, teasing her so that her face reddened in a blush and she giggled. The fire crackled in the grate. The bright brittle sun of winter sparkled on the window panes. It was all so nauseatingly cozy that Gen wanted to scream.
Her only consolation was that Alan seemed hesitant about approaching her. He stayed close to his mother's side until Gen could see the conversation was boring him to distraction, then wandered over to Geoffrey. But her sister and his brother immediately sobered at his arrival, and he was forced to leave them in awkward silence shortly after. She could almost feel his heartfelt sigh as he wandered in turn to the window.
Curiosity piqued her interest. Surely he wouldn't visit twice in one day, so he had to have brought her gift for the fifth day of Christmas. What would that be—five golden rings? She smiled to herself. Now, that would be a difficult one to accomplish without spending any money. Perhaps she would have him at last. The mere possibility made it worth a trip to the window to find out what was on his mind.
"You seem quiet today, Squire,” she ventured.
He kept his gaze on the scene outside, where the brown winter lawn of the clearing stretched to the bare canes of the rose gardens and the sluggish pond beyond. “I appear to be detroupe, Miss Munroe. Our families seem to have decided to get along quite well without us."
She glanced back at her mother and Mrs. Pentercast. Alan's mother was giggling over something her mother had said. She tried to imagine her mother saying anything humorous, on purpose. She shook her head. “Yes, much better than I had ever thought possible."
He nodded toward his brother. “If I didn't know better, I'd say Geoffrey had developed a tendre for your sister."
She followed his gaze. Geoffrey was leaning closer to Allison, who was batting her golden lashes at him and smiling coquettishly. “Allison is practicing her wiles, Squire. She's too young to settle on any gentleman just yet.” She looked back at him. “You do know that Geoffrey got those colly birds of yours off our land."
"No, he didn't mention that,” Alan replied, raising an eyebrow. It disappeared into the lock of brown hair falling over his forehead, making him look rather comical. She tried to ignore the fact that he also looked quite adorable.
"I don't suppose he mentioned that he fired at my sister either,” she continued.
"What?” He frowned, both brows coming together over his nose. If she had been hoping it would lessen his charm she was disappointed. He still looked handsome. “Are you sure?"
He looked so concerned, brows knit, eyes snapping fire, that she felt compelled to reassure him. “No one was hurt, sir. I saw the whole thing, although your brother didn't know I was there.” His fierce look forced down her gaze in guilt. “In truth, I fired before I thought as well. In any event, he and Allison agreed to keep it a secret, so it seems there has been no harm done. I suspect the whole adventure is causing their giggles today.” She couldn't help grinning up at him as his face relaxed. “However, you might want to keep an eye out for a ferret. Geoffrey caught one yesterday and promised to tame it for my sister."
Alan rolled his eyes. “I can only hope Mother doesn't find it first."
Gen chuckled. “I can imagine that wouldn't go over very well."
"I would not want to contemplate the results.” He shuddered theatrically, then sobered. “I will speak with him. About the poaching, that is. I take it you think your sister's heart is safe."
"Quite,” Gen assured him.
"And what about yours?"
Startled, she looked up into the searching brown eyes. “Mine, sir? What do you mean?"
He sighed. “If you have to ask, my dear, I'm obviously doing something wrong.” Before she could compose herself to answer, he reached into the pocket of his navy waistcoat and pulled out a small brown velvet box, shoving it at her almost belligerently. “Here. Your gift."
She frowned at him but accepted the box, which jingled in her grip. Prying open the lid, she saw the padded interior held a jumble of rings. She knew if she sorted them out and counted them, there would be five. They were all at least partially gold, some with stones that winked in the winter sunlight and sent reflections glittering across the gauze draperies.
She couldn't give him any encouragement, she cautioned herself. She looked back up at him, schooling her face to impassiveness, waiting for an explanation.
"Engagement rings,” he muttered, running his hand back through his thick brown hair and further disheveling it. “They belonged to various Pentercast women over the centuries. Surely one of them will fit."
He was doing it again, making something that should have been a precious moment in a courtship into something as common as trying on a shoe. She felt the tug of tears on her eyes and blinked, determined not to give in. Snapping the box shut, she handed it back to him. “One may fit or all may fit. It doesn't matter, for I won't be wearing any of them."
He refused to take the box from her hand. “Has nothing I've done changed your mind in any way?"
"Nothing,” she snapped.
He started to speak, but his mother's voice interrupted him. “Ermintrude Munroe, that's a horrible thing to say! I always knew you were stuck up!"
Alarmed, Gen looked her mother askance. Mrs. Munroe was sitting ramrod straight, lips tight, head high. “I can only say what I perceive to be the truth, Fancine,” she murmured, ignoring the fact that Mrs. Pentercast's outburst had caused all eyes to turn in her direction. “You would do well to heed my warning."
"Warning, Mrs. Munroe?” Alan asked, crossing to his mother's side. “Is something wrong, Mother?"
Mrs. Munroe struggled to heave her bulk upright. “She's just jealous, that's all. She always has been, and she always will be. She just wishes she had my power over men."
Her mother rose as well as Gen hurried to her side. “As usual, Fancine, you mistake my motives. I think it's time you left."
"I think it's past time,” Mrs. Munroe said, tossing her head so that the graying curls at either side of her round face wobbled. “Of course, that ridiculous excuse of a butler of yours is no where to be found."
"Now, Mother,” Alan began, all conciliation.
"Yes, Mother, really,” Geoffrey put in, joining the group by the fire with Allison at his heels. “We were having a nice time here. We wouldn't want to spoil it."
Alan frowned at him, and his mother glared. “Certainly you're having a nice time. The Munroe women have always known how to be accommodating, with the right sort of man."
Allison gasped, paling. Her mother's eyes snapped fire. “Chimes!"
"Mrs. Munroe, please excuse my mother,” Alan said firmly, glaring down at the little woman beside him. The fire went out of her, and her lower lip trembled. “And my brother as well.” Geoffrey squirmed. “Perhaps it is time we took our leave. Miss Genevieve, would you be so kind as to show us to the door since your man doesn't seem to be free?"
"Gladly,” Gen replied, leading them away from her haughty mother and distraught sister. By the time they reached the front entry, Chimes, looking harried, appeared with their wraps.
"I don't know what happened,” Alan murmured to her as Chimes helped his mother on with her cloak and Geoffrey shrugged into his greatcoat. “But I want you to know it changes nothing. I still have seven more days of Christmas. Will you come riding with me tomorrow, providing the weather holds?"
It would have been easy to refuse. She was sure the request had something to do with the next day's gift, and if she refused she would make it that much harder for him to win. But looking up in his face, so open with his emotions, showing clearly now that, whatever the reason, he badly wanted her to agree, she found she couldn't refuse him. She sighed. “Very well, Mr. Pentercast. Say ten?"
His smile was almost her undoing. “Ten it is. Until then, Miss Munroe."
Gen didn't realize she still held the box of rings until he was out the door.
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Chapter Eight
Verse Six, Six Geese a Laying
Gen shoved the jewelry box into the sleeve of her gown and returned immediately to the withdrawing room, hoping that her sister and mother had calmed during her absence. If anything, things had only grown worse. Her mother
sat staring morosely into the fire, and Allison was curled up in the armchair sniffing. Gen paused in the doorway, hands on hips. She knew she should be kind and conciliatory, but all she wanted to do was send them to their rooms like naughty school children.
"What am I to do with the pair of you?” she asked in exasperation. “I thought we had just reached friendly terms with our neighbors."
"One cannot be on friendly terms with those who are not in one's social circle,” her mother said, nose high. “They mistake every bit of kindness for condescension, or worse."
Gen shook her head, crossing to her mother's side. “Mother, you must stop this. The Pentercasts are not some vagabonds who happened into the neighborhood. Alan is considered a leading figure in the community. Mrs. Pentercast and you grew up together. How could she have suddenly fallen from grace?"
Her mother refused to look at her. “She has no refinement of spirit. She never understood what wasn't right before her eyes, and then only when it was carefully explained to her."
"What did you say to her?” Gen persisted, kneeling beside her in a vain attempt to meet her downward gaze. Her mother kept her eyes on the fire.
"I merely cautioned her to consider Vicar York's motives. You knew he was courting her."
"Yes,” Gen said with a sigh. “So you mentioned yesterday."
Allison joined them, obviously drawn by the gossip. She wiped a hand over her eyes to catch the last tears.
Their mother inclined her head in a nod. “He's over there every day, sitting with her for hours on end. And he rarely brings his bible so you needn't think it's for her religious edification."
"I find it hard to imagine the vicar as a suitor,” Gen ventured, smothering a smile at the thought of the rotund reverend roused to romance.
